La Langue de l'Amour
by Chibi StarLyte
Summary: Sherlock discovers that John speaks French, and finds it unbearably sexy. Fill for the Sherlock kink meme.


I wrote this as a fill for this prompt on the Sherlock kink meme on Livejournal:

**"Due to stumbling upon the fact that Martin Freemen took a french class when he was young AND sang in french (youtube it; it's great).**

**So when Sherlock enters the living room and sees John speaking/singing fluently in French. He and John then have a conversation in French that leads to then having sex (prefer Top!Sherlock, but either way is fine)."**

This is the first time I've ever written anything for any kink meme ever, so this was pretty fun. It doesn't go into full-on smut, though, just because I suck horribly at writing it. ._.

Note: Translations for the French dialogue can be found on my profile. ^_^

As always, if you notice any typos/errors, whether in English or in French, feel free to let me know! Many thanks to my wonderful reviewer M who has already helped me correct some of the French. :3 This story has not been beta'd, because my wonderful beta Akiame9 is out of town at the moment. Sadness. D:

**Disclaimer****:** I don't own Sherlock. That honor goes to, first and foremost, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and then to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss by extension. The song John is singing, "Un Monde Parfait," doesn't belong to me either. That belongs to Ilona Mitrecey.

.

The last thing Sherlock expected to hear upon his arrival back home was the strange, yet pleasant sound of John singing. Well, it was more like humming and murmuring than actual singing, but it was singing nonetheless. It was perfectly normal human behavior to merrily hum a tune while tidying up, for sure, except for the fact that the language coming out of John's mouth was decidedly _not_ English. It was French.

It wasn't that Sherlock was weirded out or anything by this new phenomenon; rather, he was slightly shocked at just how natural each word sounded, smoothly articulated by John's—admittedly skillful—tongue. The consulting detective remained still in the doorway for a few more moments, just watching John and listening to the phrases echoing through their quiet flat (_ce matin j'imagine un pays sans nuages_, _et ce soir je m'endors au pays des merveilles_), until he finally got up the nerve to speak.

"Tu parles français?"

Simple as his inquiry was, the sudden intrusion of his voice caught his poor doctor off-guard. John immediately silenced his singing, turning his attention to his lover with a sheepish grin. He hesitated for a moment before replying, "Vous m'avez fait peur."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Sherlock's lips. "Quelle surprise. Je ne savais pas que tu parlais français," he said casually, removing his dark, sweeping coat and hanging it behind the door.

"Ce n'est pas surprenant que vous parliez également le français," John said with a knowing smile and a shrug of his shoulders. Of course Sherlock would know French. And probably fifty other languages, too—even dead ones.

John gathered up his cleaning rags as Sherlock plopped down onto the sofa, hogging almost the entire length of it when he sprawled out his long, lanky limbs. His brain had already switched back into English, but Sherlock had other plans.

"Quelle chanson chantais-tu?" the dark-haired man asked nonchalantly, eyes sliding closed.

It took John a moment to respond, not having immediately realized his lover had no intention of using their mother tongue. He gave a small shrug. "Je ne sais pas. Je l'ai écouté à la radio. Maintenant, la chanson me trotte dans la tête." To punctuate his statement, John poked an index finger to his temple.

"Je vois…," Sherlock muttered disinterestedly. He cracked open his eyes just enough to watch John putter around the flat, picking up all his cleaning supplies and stowing them back in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. He needed to say something, needed to prod John into speaking more French. Loathe as Sherlock was to admit, listening to the foreign language curling off John's tongue was…strangely and undeniably arousing. When John ventured back into the sitting room, Sherlock went on the attack. So to speak.

"Quand as-tu appris le français?"

This time, it only took a split second for John to reply to his question. "À l'école. J'étais jeune…j'avais peut-être neuf où dix ans." He paused for a moment, taking a seat in his armchair. "Et vous?"

"Pareil pour moi. Mais, j'était plus jeune que toi." At the time, Sherlock had also been engaged in German and Latin lessons. But he neglected to mention those. He was far more interested in John's fluency with French, and the startling effect it had on him.

Even though John had just sat down, he once again moved to stand. He figured Sherlock wouldn't abandon speaking French any time soon, so he indulged his partner by asking his next question in that very language. "Bien, voulez-vous du thé?"

With a groaning sigh, Sherlock pulled himself up into a sitting position, grey eyes locked on John with a somewhat subdued intensity. "John. Ne me vouvoie pas. Je suis ton petit-ami, tu sais. Tu pourrais être informel avec moi." Inwardly, Sherlock cringed. _Petit-ami_ was way too adorable of a word for him to use. John seemed to share this thought as well, if his small and slightly adoring smile was anything to go by.

"Oui. Desolé. Tu veux du thé, Sherlock?"

Sherlock cracked a small smile of his own. Much better. "Oui, s'il te plaît."

With a nod, John disappeared into the kitchen to prepare tea for the two of them. Meanwhile, Sherlock threw himself back down onto the couch with a frustrated huff. This was certainly unexpected. There was a familiar, unbidden warmth pooling in his lower abdomen. He felt an ache, a desire, a _need_ to just jump John and have his way with him that very instant. There was just something so incredibly _sexy_ about John speaking French. Sherlock let out a sarcastic laugh at himself. It had been said around the world that French was the language of love and romance. At that point, he was starting to believe those words held absolute validity.

Mind made up, he slithered off the sofa and into the kitchen, where John was facing away from him and preparing their tea. Without warning, Sherlock came right up and draped himself over John from behind, his lithe and tall body pressed flush against the shorter man. John jumped at the sudden contact, his shoulders tensing from the surprise. Sherlock's long fingers gripped John's shoulders possessively and he dipped his head down, suckling on John's neck.

"Sherlock, what are y—"

"En français, John," Sherlock commanded in a tone halfway between a growl and a purr. His breath was hot on John's skin, his tongue and teeth working in tandem to produce a rather dark love mark. He smirked as John shuddered.

"Uh…qu'est-ce que tu fais, Sherlock?" John asked, biting his lip. This was definitely unexpected—Sherlock was rarely this attentive, this affectionate.

Sherlock dragged his tongue slowly, sensually upward until he reached John's earlobe. He nipped at the sensitive skin there, eliciting a short moan from his doctor. "Il semble que je te trouve très sexy quand tu parles français." As if to punctuate his point, he pulled John even closer to him. His elegant hands slid tentatively, tantalizingly down the length of John's arms until they reached his hands. Sherlock laced their fingers together.

John, in the midst of all the physical stimulation, seemed to have forgotten how to speak momentarily. "V-vraiment?" he croaked out.

"Oui. Tu es si irresistible, mon cher," Sherlock said, his voice low and rumbling. The baritone sent chills down John's spine, sent tingles to his groin. At least pet names sounded remarkably sexier in French.

With some epic maneuvering skills, John managed to twist himself around and face Sherlock. He intertwined their hands again and smiled up at his _petit-ami_. Oh, he could get used to that word. "Et tu es si impatient, mon amour," he teased, though he was starting to get rather impatient himself. His poking arousal said as much.

Sherlock couldn't help it—really, he couldn't. It was just so incredibly _hot_ to listen to John's French and he was sufficiently turned-on now, painfully so, and he just couldn't hold back anymore. He dove in for the kill and took John's lips into a searing kiss, nibbling and biting and prodding with his tongue as he hoisted John up onto the counter top. Instinctively, John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist and returned the kiss in kind, barely restraining the moans creeping up the back of his throat.

"Je te veux, John," Sherlock breathed as he trailed rough, biting kisses along John's jaw. His fingers swept up beneath John's jumper, aching to touch and caress that tanned, muscled chest. "J'ai besoin de ton amour."

In one swift motion, John pulled his jumper over his head and tossed it haphazardly to the floor. He craved skin-to-skin contact just as badly as Sherlock was. Leaning forward, he threaded his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls and whispered, hot and heavy into his ear, "Tu l'as déjà, Sherlock."

Neither of them noticed the whistling of the kettle.

.

I have to admit, it was fun digging out my old French text books and re-educating myself in the ways of irregular verb conjugations and whatnot. XD

Until next time,  
Chibi


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